


The Cartland Factor

by The Hag (hagsrus)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagsrus/pseuds/The%20Hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally published in Unprofessional Conduct 10 (Gryphon Press 1999)<br/>(subsequent minor revisions)</p><p>My first zine story, very fluffy</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cartland Factor

"There's my lovely Bodie!"

"Hello, Bren!" Bodie's face lit with pleasure as she leaned over and planted a kiss on his mouth.

"There's Brenda's lovely Bodie," crooned her companion. "Kiss for Brenda's lovely Sheila?"

Bodie obliged.

"Oi, what about lovely Doyle, then?"

The two women turned, looked at Doyle, looked at each other, looked at Bodie.

"This yours, Bodie?" Sheila inquired. She slid into the booth beside Doyle. "Looks kissable. Needs introducing, though."

"Sheila, Brenda, may I present my partner, Ray Doyle? Brenda Caldwell, Sheila Fairclough," Bodie responded with mock ceremony. "That do?"

They agreed it did.

"So how have you two been?" Bodie asked. "What are you doing in London? Where are the kids?"

"Up with my Nan at Ilkley," Sheila said. "My shout. What are you fellers drinking?"

Doyle watched her progress toward the bar with interest.

Brenda said: "Came for Deirdre's wedding. Saturday."

"Deirdre? Little Deirdre?" Bodie looked vaguely sentimental.

"Well, she's in a fair way to being a lot less little. Bit of a rush job."

"Shotgun?"

"Nah. They always meant to get married when she got up the spout, and Ma just wants it done before she's showing. Thing is, Bodie, Ma's insisting on this real big bash with all the family, and..."

"And you need a tall, dark, beautiful feller's arm to hang on to, right?"

"Be nice, but you'll do if you're available."

Bodie considered. "What time?"

"About two. Till whenever."

"Posh frock, is it?"

"Not really. Jacket and tie be nice if you feel like making the effort. Registrar's office, then pig out at some new banquet place. Ma's blowing a fortune on the catering. Best Scottish smoked salmon and Veuve Cliquot all the way. Right up your alley."

"Veuve Cliquot?" Bodie said thoughtfully. "I dunno: last time I drank that I ended up telling my bird all the things I did one weekend in Jordan--put her right off me the next fortnight. Bubbles go right to the brain. Who's taking Sheila? I'm not doubling with that pillock from MI6 she had last time."

"Ah, well, that brings up another point. Any chance Murph's free?"

"In Belfast this week," Doyle said, standing up to take the tray of drinks from the returning Sheila. "Can I offer my services for Saturday, Sheila?"

Three pairs of eyes considered him for a moment. Then Sheila slid into the seat and said, as he settled beside her, "Be nice, Ray, but I don't want any misunderstandings. Seen you eying my tits and I take it as a compliment, but they're only for looking at, far as fellers are concerned."

"Never seen you so gobsmacked, sunshine," Bodie remarked happily a few minutes later when the women had finished their drinks and pleaded wedding business to attend to.

"Brenda too?"

"These days, yeh. Dunno why. Used to be a right little raver."

"Did you--?"

"On and off. So to speak. They both used to work in Computers, but they moved over to Defence just after we were partnered. Then Brenda got hitched, had a couple of kids, got unhitched, and went off to Bradford with Sheila and the brats. Work at some hush-hush MOD research project now. Usually see 'em when they're down here, catch up on the gossip."

"You never with Sheila, then?" Doyle was simmering with prurient curiosity and incipient lust.

"Strictly for the birds, our Sheila," Bodie smirked, finishing his drink. "Heading home." His voice lowered. "Fancy me tonight, sunshine?"

Green eyes considered him, darkened with desire. "You won't try any of that--?"

"Promise," Bodie agreed a trifle wistfully.

"Okay." Doyle swigged back the last of his lager. "Let's go." As he followed his partner out of the pub an echoing wistfulness flickered in his own face but was firmly banished by the time Bodie looked at him again.

***

"What it is," Bodie said after deep thought, sadly contemplating his empty champagne glass, "is--what it is, is--"

"Cough it up, ducky," Brenda encouraged. "Look, finish my drink, why don't you?" She'd sacrificed several already to the cause of advanced research into the Bubbled Bodie Brain phenomenon.

"Ta. See, Bren, if I've got a soul, it's got lover's nuts."

"Not quite with you there, petal," she said cautiously and mugged a passing waiter for two more glasses.

"He won't bloody kiss me, Bren." Bodie emptied his glass. "Won't bloody cuddle. Always kissed you and cuddled you after, didn't I?" He turned brooding blue eyes toward her. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"Very nice afterglow you gave, Bodie," Brenda assured him. "Nearly five minutes, some nights."

"Five--?"

"Seemed longer to you, did it?" Bodie grunted noncommittally. "Won't kiss you ever?"

"Thinks it's queer, Bren."

"He never!" she encouraged him gleefully and handed him the other glass.

"Truth. Sprawls there on my bed, does bloody everything except kiss, and afterwards he can't stand being touched. And I want to... Driving me--" he swallowed the last drops-- "to drink. Look." He upended the glass and shook it.

"What about before?" she ventured diffidently.

"Before what?"

"Before you-- Whatever you do. Kiss you then?"

Bodie shook his head sadly. "Just wants to get right into it. I mean, it's terrific sex, Bren, but he...doesn't seem to care..."

Brenda gulped down impending hysteria. "Poor old Bodie! Just treats you like a sex object, does he?"

"Yeah, well... You perishing birds all liked it. Murph liked it. Wossname liked it. Only Ray that won't cuddle, and now he's the only one I..."

Brenda liberated more champagne. "You only sleeping with him?" It got better and better. Couldn't wait to tell Sheila. Biter bit! Jester outwitted! How is the Bodie fallen! "That's so romantic, petal. Him too?"

"Him!" Bodie glowered. "He's never been with a man before. Got to show me he's not queer. Pulling birds every time he turns round. Reckon he's been screwing my share as well as his own, randy git. Do my best to wear him out and can't even slow him down. Bloody prismatic...satirical-what's-it...you know."

"Priapismic satyr," she agreed sagely. "You tried the standard Cartland moves?"

"Don't read that tripe, do I?" Bodie protested indignantly. "What moves?"

"Sweep him up in your powerful arms and rain burning kisses on his startled lips..."

"Bet sodding Barbara's fellers weren't trying to kiss a bloody killing machine that would kick 'em in the goolies and dislocate their powerful shoulders before they knew what hit 'em." He hiccupped. "Pardon. Course I tried, Bren. He just won't wear it. Last time he threatened to--well, just told you, didn't I? Says it's..."

"No signs of melting when you can't help blurting out you've loved him since you... Bodie?"

"Thinks me trying to kiss him's queer," Bodie muttered. "What's he gonna..."

"Just grabbed him the first time, did you?"

"Well...kind of mutual grab. Both all strung up after that bloody thing with that Ulrike psycho..."

"And you knew it all, knew your way round a bloke, knew what'd drive him spare, and he was all dewy innocent wonder, and...you never kissed him then?"

"Well, the first time, bloody lovely kissing, been dreaming about it ever since, but after... when I woke up he just said he wouldn't mind another go at the actual sex but he wouldn't do any more of that soft queer stuff and..." He blinked. "Ray? _Dewy?_ "

"Went right to sleep, did you?"

"Fair knocked me out, Bren. Never had sex that fantastic! Present company--"

"Never mind that, petal. So you do love him?"

"Of course I do! It's him, it's different, it's not just the sex...."

"Well, I've been keeping an eye on him. He's been out there on the dance floor wallowing around with half the talent here, but every other minute he looks at you. Not obvious unless you're watching for it, but he can't keep his eyes off you. And you never said you loved him, just rolled over and went to sleep, didn't you, Bodie?"

"Oh, come off it, Bren! Tough as old boots, Doyle is. Looks like one sometimes." He accepted another glass. "You're trying to get me drunk, aren't you? Think you'll get me telling you things that are none of your business. Always nosy, you were. Old boots," he repeated sternly.

"Bodie, love, he's aching for all that soft queer stuff, same as you, but he's got to have something to hang on to. If he thinks it's only sex as far as you're concerned... Well, doesn't want to spread it all out in front of you and have you trample oblivious through his tender yearning heart with your size tens, does he?"

"Eights," Bodie muttered. "Don't trample...did I trample you, Bren?"

"I wasn't a yearning virgin, was I?"

"Not much, no," Bodie agreed absently. "Ray? _Yearning?_ Anyway, what if you've got it all wrong?"

Brenda shrugged. "Then he kicks you in the goolies and dislocates your shoulder."

"Oh, ta very much! You'll be safe back at Bradford, won't you?" Bodie snagged two more glasses. "Fancy a drink?"

Brenda accepted graciously, and wondered how Sheila's research project was going.

***

 

"You love him, don't you?" Sheila teased. She spun three times, blissful in the dance. "Never stop looking at him. Sweet." She wriggled her hips, shook her breasts in their clinging, low-cut knit sweater. "Rather be dancing with him, wouldn't you? You're doing it again. Brenda's got him safe, don't fret yourself, flower." The music slid into something slow, and she glided into his arms. "Nice dancer, you are, Ray."

"Nice partner." Doyle was surprised how relaxed he felt with her: perhaps all the unaccustomed champagne had something to do with it. Easy familiar woman-shape, woman-scent, gentle erotic glow, and he didn't have to do a thing about it, just enjoy the dancing.

He inhaled the fresh smell of her hair, considered the sensations of her voluptuous body against him. He wasn't indifferent, but there was no urgent lust. He'd had so many birds the past few months in his frantic quest to shake free of what seemed a hopeless infatuation that he was beginning to think he'd sprained something in his libido. And none of them, he realized sadly, had turned him on a quarter as much as Bodie did.

He sneaked another quick glance at the banquette where Bodie and Brenda were deep in talk and champagne.

"Bet you'd like to swap notes with Bren, wouldn't you?" she suggested impudently.

"Sheila!" He considered pushing her away, then gave her a quick hug instead. "You ever tried men?"

"Back when I was floundering about. Not really good for me, though. Wrong smell or something."

He considered the idea, remembering how Bodie had smelled this morning, sleep-warm, semen-spattered, sex-sweated. Smell of love... He hastily pulled back a few inches. "Sorry, Sheila, nothing personal!"

"No offence taken, petal." She gently disengaged from his embrace. "But let's skip this slow dancing, shall we? Think there's any of those shrimp thingies left?" She twined her fingers with his and drew him towards the buffet. "Does he know you love him?"

Doyle shrugged irritably. "He'd know if he'd bothered to stay awake long enough that first time. These your shrimp thingies?"

Sheila passed him a tray of champagne an unwary waiter had set down for a moment and nibbled shrimp thingies while he absentmindedly emptied three of the glasses. "Fell asleep on you, did he?"

"Mmm. Well, can't really blame him, was pretty shagged out meself. But- -it's his turn to say it, if he does, and I dunno if he does. Not going to kiss 'im again without that." He despatched a fourth glass.

"Again?" Sheila was fascinated. Brenda was going to love this. More data! She edged the next glass into his waiting hand.

"First time-- It was like all that turgid slop in Barbara Cartland. Been wanting him for months. Swear my bloody knees went weak." He scowled at her. "Stakeout in a lodging house when I was still a copper, couldn't go out, no telly, nothing to read in the place except shelves full of Barbara bleedin' Cartland."

"Swept you up in his powerful arms and rained burning kisses, did he? Sorry. Joke Bren and I always have. Nice kiss, was it?"

"Thing is," Doyle confessed, "it's never felt like that with any woman. Can cope with the sex, but kissing him, it's like turning into a puddle of melted chocolate. Can't be having with that on a regular basis unless he's puddlin' as well. Get all emotional. Be gushing out all sorts of soppy rubbish and never hear the end of it. So I told 'im it was too queer. Well," he added defensively, "all I could think of at the time."

"He's probably just shy," Sheila suggested.

"Shy? _Bodie?_ "

"Like that song: _Longing to tell you, but afraid and shy, I'd let my golden chances pass me by,_" Sheila persisted. "Expect he can't believe a gorgeous feller like you would be serious about him. Give him another golden chance, why don't you?"

Doyle sighed. "Where's all that soddin' champagne disappeared to?"

"I expect I'll just borrow this bottle, shall I?" Sheila murmured, easing it from the grasp of the waiter who had returned to collect his tray and was resignedly preparing to refill the plundered glasses. "Save you the bother. Come on, Ray. For Barbara's sake."

"Bugger Barbara."

"Wouldn't you rather--?"

"Mind like a sewer," Doyle approved, and followed her across the room.

 

***

 

"They're coming back," Brenda observed. "Good, they've got some more booze."

"More booze!" Sheila waved the bottle of champagne recklessly over her head, clutching Doyle's hand and tugging him down onto the banquette where Bodie and Brenda were lounging. "Open it, Ray?"

"You kidding? That could blow up half London! Let Bodie do it."

"Dewy," Bodie muttered and went in search of a waiter.

When he returned with what had survived the bubblegush and a second, calmer bottle he had charmed away, Brenda and Sheila had moved out onto the dance floor and were waltzing dreamily cheek to cheek, neatly switching the lead every few moments while an interested audience of family closed in.

"They decided to come out," Doyle said. "That my champagne?"

Bodie gave him the bubble remains and sat beside him. "Lovely little movers, aren't they?"

"Mmm. Nice... Bodie, I... "

"Want 'em both at once, you randy old toad?"

Doyle upended the bottle, swallowed, choked, mopped vaguely at the foam that had flowed down the side of his neck. "Been overdoin' it... Think I've gone off birds just now."

"Know the feeling."

Doyle offered him the bottle.

Bodie shook his head. "Had enough for a minute. Want to talk to you." He decided to risk it. "Don't seem to fancy anyone but you these days. Got to say something queer and soft, then I'll let it alone. You listening?"

"Want to dance with me?" There was a hint of tenderness in Doyle's malachite gaze.

"Yes." Bodie's stomach--or something--flip-flopped. He had a sudden curious vision of melted chocolate. "No. Don't be daft. Who'd lead? Will you just bloody listen!"

Doyle set the champagne bottle down. "You goin' to say you love me?"

"Ray, I--" He blinked. "What? Oh, sod it! All right, so I bloody love you! If you don't like it-- well, bugger all I can do about it."

"Just wondered what took you so long." He glared at Bodie. "Told you I did that first time, but you just grunted and started snorin' your perishin' head off!"

"Well, why didn't you say it again when I was awake?"

"Hourly recitals like a bleedin' cuckoo clock? If you couldn't be bothered--"

"That why you wouldn't kiss me?"

Doyle shrugged. "From now on I only kiss my lovers. That I love," he amplified. "That love me," he further clarified and went back for the final dregs of foam.

"Got it all over you," Bodie chided, taking the bottle away from him. "Don't know why I'm arse over tit in love with anything so soggy. And that's lover. Singular. All right?"

Doyle nodded. "Take it in turns leading, like they are. Better lying down, though."

Bodie leaned towards him. "Get a kiss now?"

"Let's get out of here first. Don't want all the wedding guests gawpin' at us."

Raised voices, both contentious and congratulatory, from the group surrounding Brenda and Sheila started to drown out the music.

"All gawping at those two," Bodie observed.

"Still--might not be able to leave off once we get started. Been waiting for this, you know." Doyle grinned somewhat lopsidedly. "Soft queer stuff. Start sayin' gay. Happy. And lots of the good hard stuff too, of course. All of it, yeh? Sweep you up in my powerful arms and rain burning kisses--"

"You and Brenda in the same book club?" Bodie demanded. "Grab that other bottle and let's go. Private celebration. Handfast. Exclusive from now on, all right?"

"Unless you want kickin' in the shoulder and your goolies dislocated," Doyle assured him dewily.


End file.
